


See Through Me

by aybeexinfinity



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fade Sex, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, The Fade, i'm still pissed about the trespasser ending but i'm hopelessly in love with solas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aybeexinfinity/pseuds/aybeexinfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas is no stranger to lust, but there's something else about the Inquisitor that pulls him in. A spiritual reverberation that isn't usually attributed to humans. Whether he would risk his relationship with her to find out is an entirely different story.</p>
<p>-=-=-=-=-</p>
<p>Rated E for eventual smut. WIP. No spoilers except for the main game's end revelation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A scream pierced through the night, interrupting the subtle crackling of the camp’s fire and occasional wolf’s howl. The Inquisitor was first to emerge from her tent, clothed in boiled leather and warm furs to combat the Hinterlands’ cool nights. Her hair was as dark as her eyes were bright, and Solas wondered how even amidst a brewing catastrophe she managed to capture him so effortlessly.

“Demons!” A soldier cried out as Varric and the Iron Bull joined their leader in investigating. The few soldiers at the encampment all drew their swords. “We’ve got demons up at Lake Luthias!”

“Your worship,” A female soldier ran up to the Inquisitor, slightly out of breath and wide eyed. “A rift just opened up at the lake, the demons—there are too many of them! Lisenne is still up there, she told me to find help!”

“Soldiers, hold your ground here.” The Inquisitor said sternly, commanding authority despite her lack of armor or weapon. She at least reached for the latter, claiming a set of daggers. Looking backwards to Solas and the others for support, they nodded to her and she turned back to the soldier. “Keep all others away until it is safe.”

Without a moment’s hesitation she sped off up the hill, trusting her companions to follow after her. Another scream came that pushed her harder, a small voice in the back of her mind reminding her that she wasn’t at all wearing the necessary armor to take on a bunch of demons. But this wasn’t just about containing them or closing the rift: one of her own, one of her soldiers was currently in peril.

“Maker take you all!” Lisenne cried while fending off a shade. The rift was glowing too brightly in the night sky, hovering above the middle of the lake. It covered them all in a wash of green, but the Inquisitor paid no mind. Instead she charged forward, crying out challenges to the emerging demons to try and draw the attention away from the soldier.

“Solas!” She turned back to look him in the eye, and he at once understood her wordless request. With very little effort he cast a powerful barrier around her—the effort would come in his attempt to maintain it and try to counteract her lack of armor. The mage took up a position at the edge of the lake while the Iron Bull charged after their leader. Varric climbed up onto a rock for a better vantage point and began to rain arrows on the battlefield.

The Inquisitor jumped right into the path of a rage demon, allowing the soldier a moment to catch her breath while the creature lunged at its new target. She fought with little fear but much drive, wading deep into the dark waters to combat the twisted representations of the Fade. Sometimes it was difficult to determine who was truly louder: the Bull or the greater terrors he attacked. When the first wave had been dealt with the Inquisitor quickly checked that all of her companions were still on their feet before turning to Lisenne.

“Go back to the camp, and head to the healer at the Crossroads if needed.” She ordered, pushing her damp hair out of the way. The soldier shook her head, holding her sword a little tighter.

“The Inquisition stands with you, Lady Trevelyan.” Lisenne asserted. Before the Inquisitor could argue the next wave of demons poured through from the rift, demanding everyone’s attention. Solas realised, amidst the battle, how much more effort he was putting into keeping up the Inquisitor’s defenses than he was contributing to their collective assault. He would have time later to begrudge the human’s ability to unknowingly demand his focus.

Two of the lesser shades broke off from the main group and came full force at the Elf, startling him from his trance and requiring the joined effort of his magic and the Dwarf’s arrows. Iron Bull was busy with a rage demon of his own which left the Inquisitor and Lisenne to deal with the greater terror. It jumped through a spatial-distorting portal and lunged at them. The both of them fell into the water, going under for a brief moment before resurfacing. The gentle wail of a despair demon loomed in the background as the Inquisitor slashed at the greater terror. Its blood gushed down onto her when it finally went down, but there was barely a moment before the Qunari was roaring at her.

“Boss, behind you!” The sound of his giant legs trying to run through the water did nothing to drown out the despair demon’s scream as it hovered above Lisenne. The Inquisitor dove towards the soldier, acting like a shield against the demon’s ice attack. She had never taken a hit from one of them directly like this, not without some form of armor taking the brunt of the attack. The ice reached down to her bones, to her soul. It felt worse than cold, did nothing to numb her. Instead it seemed to steal whatever warmth and joy the world could have held. All of it, robbed viciously as the blast hit her chest again and again.

An arrow to the demon’s head interrupted the attack and the Bull leapt after it with his axe. The Inquisitor, feeling entirely bereft of any strength or willpower, fell to her hands and knees. She was nearly submerged in the water, heaving in breaths in an attempt to gather her strength. All she felt was cold.

“Herald!” Lisenne rushed to the Inquisitor’s side and went to help her up but stopped when the leader held up a hand.

“Please, return to the camp.” She said with a strained breath. Iron Bull’s heavy steps looming closer meant all the demons had been dealt with and now it fell to her to close the rift. The soldier shook her head, wanting to help in every capacity, but the Inquisitor got to her wobbly feet and gave a wordless command to Varric.

“Come on, Lisenne was it?” The Dwarf jumped off the rock and the soldier hesitantly wandered over to him. “You know, I had a friend in Kirkwall who you fight like. And who was also pretty stubborn.”

As they disappeared down the path the Inquisitor met Solas’ eye for a moment before turning back to the still active rift. Her limbs were already beginning to shake from the combination of the night air, her water-soaked clothing, and the freezing encounter with the demon. Despite all of this, she rose her trembling hand that glowed as bright as the rift and used all her energy to seal it. The effort nearly forced her back to her knees, but the Iron Bull reached out in time to catch her. She steadied herself on his large frame before straightening up and walking to shore.

“You should have taken the time to equip your armor, Inquisitor.” Solas said sternly, watching the way she shook.

 “I’m tired of losing soldiers, Solas.” She countered in a drained voice. After only a few steps in his direction she stumbled and the Elf immediately put his hands out. He gripped her waist as she used his shoulders for support. “ _Maker’s breath_.”

“Need a lift, boss?” Iron Bull asked casually from behind her. As she straightened up she looked Solas in the eye and took a step back before looking backwards at the Qunari and shaking her head.

“It wouldn’t do the soldiers well to see me carried back to camp after one little rift.” She challenged, offering a smile but only exposing her chattering teeth.

“You must warm yourself, at the very least.” Solas argued, hovering as close as he dared while the three of them returned to the camp. Iron Bull made a crude joke about how _he_ could warm her up easily, but she dismissed the playful banter and quickly sought out news of the soldier’s well-being upon their arrival. Lisenne was sitting by the fire, covered with a blanket, but nearly stumbled trying to stand up and offer her sincere thanks to the Inquisitor.

After nodding she took refuge in her tent, stripping out of the soaking wet clothing and putting on the dry clothing that was far more suited for a place like the Western Approach than it was the cold, wet night in the Hinterlands. Still, the thin fabric was better than wet fabric. In the back of her mind, she knew that to feel better, sitting in front of the fire outside was her best bet. And yet, she had not the will to move. Sitting down on her messy bedroll, she brought her knees up against her chest and fought the urge to cry. _She was so cold_. What was the point in moving? She would still be cold, and sad, and alone outside. In fact, there wasn’t much point to anything, was there? It would be better to just give in to sorrow…to give up and accept that _despair_ was best…

“Inquisitor?” The Elf’s voice sounded outside her tent and she was pulled from her thoughts, though the feeling did not leave her.

“Solas…” Her voice came out in almost a plea; far too vulnerable and fragile for her liking. It must have alarmed the mage because he came in and took in the sight of her, looking up at him with watering eyes. “Why am I so cold? So sad?”

“The despair demon…” He began, studying her a moment with a strained expression before kneeling in front of her. The Inquisitor’s whole body was shaking, as if she were locked in a terrible nightmare. “Its cold may have reached your heart. You need warmth.”

“No!” She cried out, shaking her head. “I do not wish for the others—the soldiers—to see me this way.”

“Inquisitor—”

“Solas, I can’t.” She interrupted, lacking entirely all of the strength and courage that normally defined her.

“ _Alana_.” Solas’ voice carried authority that cut through whatever spell the after effects of the despair demon had on her. “I will help you, but you must try to acknowledge your suffering as an outside force. This is the work of the demon.”

With a shaky breath she nodded and watched as the mage sat down properly before her, their knees nearly touching. He instructed her to hold out her hands and she obeyed, watching as he took both in his own hands and inhaled deeply. The whole air seemed to crackle as his skin touched hers; they rarely ever made such physical contact, let alone twice in the same night. Her eyes were glued to his as she felt a subtle warmth grow where their hands connected. The Inquisitor held him tighter and subconsciously shifted forward, desperate for the heat he was providing. The warmth spread out in gentle waves up her arms and down to her core before moving on to the rest of her body.

“ _Ma seranas_.” She breathed, letting the elvish roll off her tongue with ease. It always caught him off guard, how casually she could speak to him in a language that by all rights should be foreign to her. Taboo, even. She was by no means fluent in it, but knew enough to offer courtesies like this when dealing with elvhen.

Sometimes he wondered how magnificent true elvish would sound coming from her mouth; she could do the language of Arlathan more justice than some of the people. Though, the language of the elvhen garnered no special treatment from her: she made a point to expose herself to the many different cultures and languages of her companions. The Bull, of course, relished in teaching her all the best insults and curse words he knew despite her request to learn greetings and simple dialogue. Varric was not really ever in the mood to deal with the culture of his people, but the mason Dwarf Gatsi was more than happy to indulge her. Solas even heard her discussions with Dorian in the book-filled level above his rotunda, correcting her pronunciation of different Tevine words. He found himself wondering who she went to for schooling in elvhen. Certainly not Sera. Perhaps the elvhen apothecary in Skyhold’s gardens. He would be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes fantasize about her coming for him. Coming _to_ him, rather. Well, both.

“Despair demons feed off of sadness, and do what they can to create it.” Solas explained to keep his mind from her. She was _human_. And yet, unlike any of her kind he’d met. She cared for others more than any of them deserved, she fought with the valor and courage of an army, and amidst everything that happened she refused to let the power of heading the Inquisition poison her. Still, she was human, and he should have respected her not lusted after her. But as he increased the warmth he offered her body, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back, giving him time to admire the line of her neck, the fullness of her lips, and way her thickness of her figure in comparison to an elvhen woman. Solas wondered how she would feel with his legs between hers.

“Is that why all I feel is sorrow?” She asked, meeting his eyes again. “You told me that demons are just spirits whose purpose has been perverted when they come into our world, right?”

“Yes.” Solas replied, intrigued that not only did she seek out his opinions and ask to hear of his tales in the Fade, but also seemed to truly listen when he spoke. Unlike most non-mages who dismissed his ideals for their far-fetched nature.

“I know you enjoy the time you spend in the Fade but… is our world truly that horrible? That simply being here causes such drastic change to the purpose of their semi-existence?” It almost pained her, thinking about what it must be like for spirits to undergo such a change. Certainly during battles all she wished for was their immediate end, but in the quieter moments of private thought she pitied them.

“There is goodness in this world, mingled though it is with grief.” Solas said after a moment, his eyes piercing hers. Something about the tone of his voice reached down inside her and stirred up an unfamiliar feeling. He eased his hands out of hers and she instinctively tried to keep him close, but released him quickly upon catching his eye.

“Forgive me.” She said quietly, looking down at her hands and flexing them.

“You still feel the cold?” He asked, looking down briefly to where their knees still touched. He cursed the pull he felt towards her, cursed the desire he had to have her in every way for hours on end. She nodded once and he shifted back a little. Pulling the wolf pelt from his shoulders, he draped it around hers and let her pull it close to her body. “Lay down, Alana.”

The Inquisitor did as he asked, settling into her bedroll and pulling the blanket up to her hips. Keeping the fur tight against her, she was consumed by the smell of him. It frightened her, in a way, partially because she could almost pretend he was the one around her, not the fur. What was worse, she wanted it that way. In the depths of her mind she was painfully aware that it would never be the case, that he did not seem to care for a companion at all let alone a human one. But she could not chase the thoughts away. _Maker_ how she wanted him. He reached a hand toward her neck but paused, catching her eye.

“May I?” He asked with the calmness of a healer. She nodded, despite not knowing exactly what he was requesting permission for. Pushing the furs out of the way he gently pulled down the neckline of her shirt until it exposed the skin above her heart. Then, with precision, he drew a glyph with his finger. The Inquisitor felt her body jerk up at the motion but then ease back down, and with it a weight seemed to lift from her chest. A relief from the sorrow; a reminder of the joy that did in fact permeate the world. Sometimes in small, quiet, stolen moments like this. “Try to sleep, Inquisitor. I will keep you warm as long as need be.”

Again she breathed out the words _ma seranas_ , curling up on her bedroll and ignoring how naturally her body sought out his. Solas settled beside her and held his hands over her body, providing a steady stream of heat to prevent her from being taken by ailment. He was, after all, the closest healer for some distance. It was a kindness, despite the undertone of selfishness. It granted him leave to be closer to her for longer than he ever had been outside of battle. He watched as her shakes settled and her chest delivered regular breaths, not shallow or strained ones.

Even after some time she was still cold to the touch, so he lay down before her and claimed one hand from beneath the borrowed wolf pelt to better transfer the heat. It took focus to balance the magic at a comfortable level and to generally avoid burning her; he spent most of his time using heat or fire as an offensive attack. But here, beside her, in the quiet of the tent in the middle of the healing Hinterlands, he knew that he could never bring her harm.

As she drifted into the realm of sleep his name left her lips, almost like a secret, but it stirred him deeply. Even unconscious she gripped at his hand, and he tried to discern the pull he felt for her. It was heavily based on carnal lust, yes, but there was something more. Something far deeper than desire or admiration or affinity for her better qualities. Something within her, something that seemed to be the foundation of her being, felt almost familiar. It was akin to remnants of ancient power, much of which would have been lost over generations and years. He wondered if it was even possible that she harbored something of the old world, something of his kin. It seemed unlikely, but just being in her presence awakened the very part of him that had slumbered for so long. This sudden possibility made him want to wake her, to ask her, to try and search her mind and ancestry for some inclination that he was right. But she shifted closer to him in her sleep and he realized that he didn’t need proof to consider the notion. She possessed power beyond brute strength or will or constitution. Beyond the arcane ability of a mage. She held within her the echoes of a power long since abandoned in the world. And it made him want her even more. This impossible human, this damning woman.

At first he wondered if he was simply sensing the anchor on her palm. It was, after all, _his_ magic. It had been in the orb that Corpypheus claimed and eventually graced her hands. Though to survive that imprint, to even be capable of enduring the transfer of such power, it would have demanded something of her that mortals simply did not consist of. Not to mention the fact she managed to physically enter the fade and safely escape it. Oh, how he coveted her. She was brimming with deep-rooted magic that she could never fully understand, a mortal woman granted rights that few others ever had been. Solas wanted to shake her, wanted to explain just how much of an anomaly she was. But she deserved her rest and health; so he extinguished the lantern and focused on keeping her warm.


	2. Chapter 2

“You only want a rematch because you lost, Varric!” Alana called out to the dwarf as she headed into the Rotunda.

“Come on, you’ve gotta give me a chance to win back my dignity!” He replied, following her to the threshold and holding out his deck of cards like a taunt.

“Losing three matches in a row wasn’t enough for you then, my friend?” She smirked at him before turning entirely. Varric huffed in defeat and disappeared back to his seat by the fireplace in the hall. Solas was sitting at his desk but looked up at the Inquisitor when she passed. She offered a smile but left him to his work, heading up the stairs to re-shelve the books she had been looking through. She was certain that there was something to be gained by reading up on old Tevinter literature seeing as it was the origin of her foe. Something to at the very least lend her an understanding of where he came from, what was common at the time, and how far he deviated from the path of the Old Gods. As she headed back down the stairs she was going over her findings in her mind. The games of wicked grace with Varric had been a welcome distraction, but the need to be a step ahead of her enemy was ever-present.

“Inquisitor?” Solas called out when she reached the bottom of the stairs. “I was…Do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” She smiled warmly at him, but kept her distance. It was always harder for her if they made physical contact. As if too much would undo her and she would confess her feelings. The mage asked if they could speak privately, so she led the way up to her chambers.

It had been almost two weeks since they’d gone to the Exalted Plains in search of his friend. The Inquisitor was so certain that it had ended poorly: the spirit of Wisdom left forever and Solas was clearly pained by it. But he had assured her that she helped, and offered his gratitude. Not many people would have risked their lives for a spirit he explained. Especially not one that had been twisted into a terrifying pride demon.

“What were you like before the anchor?” Solas asked as they wandered onto her balcony. It overlooked the grand vista of the Frostback Mountains, a sight that never failed to leave her in awe. “Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your…spirit?”

“I don’t believe so.” She replied, unsure of how she would know if it had. It seemed a strange question to ask out of the blue, but she indulged him nonetheless. “Why do you ask?”

“You show a wisdom I have not seen since…Since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the fade.” He looked her in the eye, refusing to break his stare. It almost made her look away, the gaze was so intense. That, coupled perhaps with the fact that he did not freely offer compliments. She fought back a blush.  “You are not what I expected.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” She teased, smirking a little. It didn’t seem to have the intended effect, as he quickly rushed to rephrase himself.

“It’s not disappointing it’s…” He paused to sigh, averting his eyes to the mountainside. “Most people are predictable. But you have shown a subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I know of your people.”

“I do what I can.” She shrugged. _All this teasing_ , he thought, _she has been spending too much time with Varric_. The dwarf’s nonchalance was rubbing off on her.

“You are modest. So many would use this inquisition as a blunt instrument in their rise to power. But not you.”

This caught her even more off guard. To hear that he thought so highly of her made the beating thing in her chest flutter. He stood up tall as if to challenge any doubts she had about his honesty. Perhaps this was all because of what she did for him in the Exalted Plains. It was likely his way of saying that he appreciated her, _as a friend_. To read into it too much would be detrimental.

“So what does this mean, Solas?” The Inquisitor finally asked. The mage paused for a short moment to carefully select his wording.

“It means that I respect you deeply, Inquisitor. And I have disturbed you enough for one evening.”

With that he bowed and took his leave. She hesitated before following after him, intending to retire for the night. It was a force of habit to always lock the door to her chamber. Logically, she was in the safest place. Skyhold was for the moment her personal fortress full of and surrounded by legions of soldiers that obeyed her command. Not to mention her close personal companions that had proven time and again they would defend her. But still, to get too comfortable anywhere only left her more vulnerable to attacks from within. After all, it was impossible to know the hidden motivations of every single person who elected to join the Inquisition. She was never truly safe, not while Corypheus still lived.

Solas bid her a good night and she moved to close the door, but a pain shot up through her arm from her hand. It made her cry out, the elf turning immediately at the sound. Alana gripped the marked hand and clenched her teeth, trying to promise that it was nothing. Of course, Solas knew better than to believe her.

“Give me your hand.” He said softly, waiting for her to accept his offer. She was hesitant to let him touch her—not out of fear of him, but rather fear of the pain somehow spreading to him. Her worries subsided almost immediately though when they made contact. A wave of cool magic washed over her and focused on the pain emanating from her hand. The anchor’s bright light dimmed somewhat as Solas performed the healing magic that he was so adept at.

Even through the pain there was a feeling like an itch in the back of her mind. Like a word caught on the tip of her tongue: known to some part of her yet just out of reach. Something about him—what he was doing, his magic, _something_ —felt familiar. A whispered afterthought echoed back through millennia: and Solas felt it too. He saw the way she looked at him, knew what she’d sensed. When he was finished she nearly stumbled from the weight lifted off her. The wall was there to support her though and Solas let her hand slip from his. He waited for the words of gratitude to leave her lips, the perfectly pitched _ma serannas_. It was a sweeter sound than he deserved, but one he savoured nonetheless. “Does that happen often?”

“Now and then.” The Inquisitor explained, rubbing her palm roughly. “It always goes away though.”

Solas hovered in the doorway, hands now folded behind his back as they so frequently were. He maintained the respectable distance that he established with most people save for the few times when he ventured across that invisible line. The feeling of his hand on her own lingered like a ghost; a subtle tingle of electricity still running laps along her skin. It was not a feeling she was able to easily forget.

“If you see any of my advisors on your return, please inform them I’ve retired for the night.” She said the words to stop herself from letting things drag on any longer. He had already done more than necessary by stopping the spasm of the mark. The Elf took the cue and left her, listening for a moment as she closed and locked the door before heading down the numerous flights of stairs. If she was truly sleeping soon then she would be in the fade: the anchor would likely indicate her presence like a flying standard.

Solas was curious; he wanted to see how the mark affected her dreams. It had been different when they met in the fade intentionally because that was directed. But observing her natural dreams and how the anchor may affect her subconscious’ interaction with the fade was something else entirely. The prospect intrigued him and so, after some time had passed and the buzz of Skyhold wound down, he retired to his own quarters. Laying down on the bed he set the wards he always did and let his mind slip into the familiar yet foreign territory.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It took longer than expected for Solas to feel her spirit enter the fade. Perhaps she hadn’t truly gone to sleep right away, or perhaps she was unknowingly making herself hard to find. Both options seemed likely but it mattered little to him when he finally found her. In her slumber, the subconscious part of her mind drew upon real experiences to create a backdrop. She stood amidst the Exalted Plains, fully clothed in her usual armor and equipped with her weapons. The breeze was pleasant but carried an undertone of death. Not only the recent Orlesian soldiers who had died in their petty civil war, but also the countless elves who lost their lives in the last Exalted March.

When she walked through the tall grass of the Plains it was with a soft step. She moved with a respect of the world and all that was in it. A similar disposition became her in the waking world: she disapproved of wastefulness, of destruction, of needless bloodshed. She avoided instigating battles unless absolutely necessary, but when she did there was an undeniable power.

Here, in this collective recollection of the Plains, she was focused on one place in particular. Near the edge of the river stood the stubborn ruins of the ancient baths. Though the decorative finishes and luxurious design had long since been lost, it was still an impressive architectural feat to see. Alana’s hands reached out to delicately trace the stone as she entered. Solas followed before she was out of sight, but watched her from afar while she took in the finer details of the structure as if she’d never been there before. He wondered if it was just a coincidence that of all places her mind would go, it was a place that had once housed his people. Their memories were everywhere, the more emotional spirits keeping record with their very existences of what the place had once been.

When the Inquisitor approached a torch her hands went to her pockets in search of any matches. Instead Solas set it ablaze with veilfire but forgetting, in his observation of her, that she had honed incredible reflexes. Almost immediately her eyes found him, the momentary panic subsiding at the sight of a familiar face. A warm smile spread across her face and she took the torch from the wall.

“Solas, I’m glad you’re here.” Her voice was a sweet contrast to the coldness of the place, but she breathed warmth with her addition of a proper elven greeting. “ _Andaran atish’an_.”

He smiled and bowed his head, repeating the words back to her before she explored deeper into the ruins. The sky was a brighter blue than it usually was and the horizon lacked the usual pillars of smoke. The Inquisitor was turning in slow circles as they entered the first room, looking up at the sky, the walls, the floors.

“There’s something about this place…” She began in a small voice, eyes narrowing at the blank stone beneath her fingertips. Solas watched her closely, studying the micro-movements and specific intonations of her voice. “It’s like there’s a hum, just below the surface of everything. An echo, a…memory.” She paused for a moment, looking down at the mark on her hand, and then turned to him. “Does that make any sense? Do you believe that buildings or structures like this can house some spiritual remnants of what once was?”

“I think it would be foolish to assert otherwise.” He said in an even voice. “Especially in places where the veil is thinner. It is only logical to assume that some of the memories and energy spill over.”

Alana was quiet while she considered this and continued to inspect the ruins. In the next chamber there were the remnants of where windows would once be, and a small balcony overlooking the main area of the baths. If he focused, he could hear the water and the gentle blur of multiple conversations.

“I meant to ask you,” Alana said, turning to face him suddenly. “Why is it you’ve never referred to me as a _shemlen_? I’ve been called it plenty of times before by other elves.”

“The answer is simple.” He said with a serious look on his face. “The Dalish use the word in disdain for your kind. Even if not uttered so, that is the origin of the term. I would not degrade you in such a way by using that term. “

When she looked at him her head tilted ever so slightly. As if she almost didn’t believe him, almost thought he might be feeding her a story. As if she thought she deserved to be called by the term. The Inquisitor looked down and then away entirely and leaned against the arch that once boasted magnificent windows.

“Whenever we come upon places like these, I can’t help but feel guilty.” She was quiet as she set the torch on the wall. “To think what this place must have been like at its peak; to know that your people are as distant from what once was as this ruin…”

“The elvhen destroyed themselves long before your kind.” He reminded her almost gently. She turned to face him with heavy shoulders and a ghost of a frown.

“I know. And I know that the blood isn’t on my hands, but it was humans who started the Exalted March. Humans who created the slums and alienages. My ancestors, kinsman, what have you, effectively engaged in genocide.”

Was this truly the kind of thing she burdened herself with? Or was there something dormant within her that pushed forward when she wasn’t looking? He could feel the reverberations millennia old circling her in this place. It was the same sensation he’d noticed before: a strange familiarity. A longing for a place he’d never been that somehow felt comfortable. A piece of something that by all rights was lost forever. The Fade brought it close to the surface, so close he could touch, _needed_ to touch. He was safe here; there could be no repercussions in this place. No fallouts or bad blood.

It was his chance to meet the echoes head on.

He maintained eye contact until she looked away, which only further sparked his impulse. Lifting a hand to her chin he turned her back to him and brought his lips down against hers. It was so quick that she barely understood what was happening until she was already kissing him back fervently. When his hands went to her waist she pulled back and looked at him with wide eyes.

“What are you…Oh Maker’s breath. I’m dreaming this again aren’t I?” She muttered to herself, rolling her eyes. A hand went out to feel at the stone walls as if it might give way and reveal itself as the fade. The Elf’s brows furrowed when he looked at her.

“Dreaming?” The way he stayed so close to her only confirmed her assumptions. She gave a sigh and let her hand trail down his cheek. Here, she was safe. Here, there would be no fallouts or bad blood.

It was her chance to find some semblance of release.

“This would never happen in the waking world.” Her eyes flickered to his, lingering for a heartbeat, and then down to his lips. “You would…He would never. Not with me.”

Whatever else she was thinking was left unsaid. With acceptance of the dream and a deep hunger, she brought his lips back to hers. The way they connected was frantic, almost maddening. Kisses alternated from brief and plentiful to slow and sparse giving them plenty of time to familiarize their hands with each other’s bodies. The Elf moved so he was pressing her between his body and the wall, a gesture she did nothing to fight against. Quiet noises fell against his mouth from her own as her nails pressed against his neck.

It did not escape him that she said she had dreamt this before. Dreamt _him_ before, in this way. At some point in their travels—perhaps in her chambers, perhaps when they lay mere feet from one another in camp—her slumbering mind had brought him to her in this fashion. The knowledge spurred him forward with even more fervor, no longer lingering on the possible doubt she might harbor about him. She was fierce enough that, even in a dream, she would never allow advances from someone unless she wished it.

As his leg slipped in between hers he found himself wondering if he was acting the way she imagined. The way she had dreamt before. He bit at her lower lip before meeting her tongue with his own. Her hands slid down his shoulders and chest before pulling back entirely; she was working at the coat covering her torso. There was too much separating them—more than just clothes in a dream land—but neither of them were willing to let that stop them.

Hands moved quickly and efficiently to pry off the layers that protected them from physical harm, piece by piece allowing for the kind of vulnerability their desire demanded of them. Every button or drawstring undone was punctuated by a reunion of their lips; the space between them was just enough to work at the fastenings. When they were finally bare Solas paused to take the wolf pelt he wore and drape it around her shoulders. It would keep the stone from hurting her back and, beyond that, it marked her clearer than any bite marks could. Any spirit in the fade that was watching, anyone who ever revisited this place and time; they would know without a doubt that this woman belonged to The Dread Wolf. If ever he took to the name given to him, it was in moments like these when he wanted there to be no doubts. Fen’harel had claimed her.

Her dark hair fell in wave around her face but her eyes were what took him most. There was almost a taunt to the way she looked at him: a challenge for him. He came at her again fiercely, letting one hand slide down her chest and down between her legs. The mage easily found her clit and circled around it, just on the verge of actually making her feel anything useful. Her hips surged forward to try and get some friction but at the movement he pressed his hand flat against her abdomen to keep her still. With his free hand he gripped her jaw, forcing her to look at him but also to deny her his kiss. Only when she stood still did he grace her with any pleasure.

Alana could feel his magic flowing around her, pressing in against her body and filling her with a heat. It was every element all at once, layer upon layer of sensation flooding her system. Simultaneously he eased two fingers inside of her. It took everything in her not to squirm, but the grip he had on her jaw assured she knew what it was he wanted of her. And she was _so_ ready to obey. He pressed his thumb to her clit while he began to work her, watching for the way her breaths hitched and never once breaking eye contact. He was just far enough that she couldn’t kiss him, but close enough that she had to stop herself from trying.

When he curled his fingers she cried out, legs crushing together around his hand. At that he released her and pulled one leg up to wrap around his hip. The length of him pressed against her and she couldn’t help but grind against him, musing at the way he watched her. For all his control, he couldn’t hide his physical reactions to the movement. When he couldn’t bare it any longer he slipped one hand behind her back and guided his length inside of her. She practically bloomed at the sensation, head falling backwards against the stone and leg pulling him tightly against her.

His name left her lips in a hushed breath, the tone one of gratitude and also borderline begging. He liked the idea of hearing her beg, knowing that he alone was capable of giving her what she wanted. But even as he moved within her he could feel something reaching out to interact with the magic he sent forth. As gentle moans tumbled from her the feeling multiplied until he feared it may be an outside influence. A spirit that he perhaps hadn’t sensed.

When he pulled away from her entirely she whimpered at the loss of him. A quick survey of the area revealed nothing of note, so instead he took a minute to properly look at her: pressed against the wall and chest heaving. Her frame was more akin to the elvhen of old than the Dalish today were, but there was an undeniable fullness to her. One that every part of him hungered for, no matter how badly he had tried to resist. She was different and other and almost taboo, but none of that mattered when she was offered up to him in this way—and on her own accord. It was almost cheating, that he could be getting so much out of a dream that belonged to her. But he would take the small mercies where he could.

“ _Please_.” She begged, fingers gripping at the rough stone behind her. Her eyes were heavy and lidded with lust, a deep ache for him absolutely consuming her. She couldn’t stand to be teased, not when release would feel so sweet.

“ _Ma nuvenin_.” He replied with the smallest hint of a smirk. It set her core on fire because even with such a short response, his tone was a dangerous promise of fulfillment. He moved to kiss her again, reveling in her thirst, and moved to reposition her body.

The wolf pelt fell from her shoulders to the ground as he turned her. The elf meant for her to be supported against the hollowed space where the window was, but something happened that he could never have anticipated. Alana’s hands went up to press against the glass of the window which had suddenly appeared. But it went beyond that: all of the windows were there, and through the windows he could see the golden light of fire reflecting off of the intricate mosaics in green and silver. A cloud of steam was rising from the bath at the far end of the construct where the water lapped back and forth akin to ocean’s waves. Silhouetted figures were moving lazily across the crystal floors clad in rich silks and luxurious satins, hair reaching down to their backs. Alana’s hands slid down the glass as she looked over her shoulder at him expectantly, body moving back against his.

It wasn’t possible. She was no mage, and even with the anchor there was no way she could manipulate the fade like this. This human, this _novice_ , had brought them back through the fade to the way the place was in the days of old. And she was so consumed by her lust that she barely even noticed. Or perhaps she did notice and simply dismissed it as a part of the dream. There was no way that she could comprehend what she had achieved—just like she was in the dark about the miracle she survived the anchor. Could he expect any less from one who took the power and was able to use it as her own? She was known to him in the deepest parts of her. Somewhere in her spirit there was a hidden piece that was not of this age.

But the warmth of her was drawing him out of his thoughts. He steeled himself, pushing her hair over one shoulder and nudging her legs apart. She smelled of dawn lotus, as though she were a garden in bloom. In one movement he pushed into her again, closing his eyes at the feeling of her wrapped around him. Her nails dragged against the glass and her gentle breaths left foggy stains. He savoured her for a moment before starting a painfully slow rhythm.  The elf pressed his lips to the side of her neck, just shy of her jaw, and flicked his tongue out against her skin. The gentle gesture coaxed muted sounds from her but he sank his teeth against her flesh producing a whole-hearted moan.

“ _Ma lathbora viran_.” He hummed beside her ear. The mage gripped her hips firmly, angling her just right.

“ _Mala suledin nadas_.” She replied in a shallow breath. He halted for a moment, unclear if she truly just said what she had. But her hips moved backwards to bring him in deep and the thought was nearly lost. The thought could wait; she could not. Without warning he snapped his hips forward, pushing her against the glass. Alana cried out and dropped one hand to cover his, fingers locking together as he pressed his chest against her back.

All teasing disappeared after that. He thrust into her with rough, deep movements that left her reeling. If she did in fact notice the others all around them she harbored no shame. The ancient elves, nothing but a memory, paid no attention to them. Solas began to whisper things to her in the old language, vulgar things that she couldn’t understand but drove her crazy nonetheless. The build-up in both of them was almost entirely in sync, as if some element of the fade worked to unite them properly. Her walls stayed tight around him, wetness trailing down the length of him to his legs.

Solas’ breaths were starting to get shallow as well, each exhale tumbling against her ear and tingling her neck. Alana had been holding herself together relatively well until he dropped his hand between her legs and began to work her clit. It was simply too much sensation to contend with. She felt her core winding up, heart racing frantically as she abandoned all attempts at stifling her noises. The moans came desperate and freely, every sound swallowed up by the elf.

“Will you come for me, Inquisitor?” He asked in a low voice, slightly out of breath.

“I’m—I’m going to—”

There was no point in her continuing; Solas drew a single glyph over her clit that sent her over the edge. She clenched around him, nails screeching down the glass and cries leaving her throat. The feeling of her legs shaking and the sudden surge of her soon brought the mage to his own finish. He buried his face in her neck and held onto her so tightly she would bruise—if this was in fact the waking world. He spilled his seed inside her in jerking thrusts, the remnants flowing out onto the both of them. For a few moments he stayed within her but eventually pulled out.

The Inquisitor took the time she needed to catch her breath before turning to face him. Without any hesitation she kissed him, already missing his touch. It was brief, though, and when she moved away she took his hand. Slowly, she led Solas out into the main chamber of the would-be ruin. She did not marvel at the sight of the place, merely accepted it, and walked the path all the way to the water. He was too curious not to follow her, all of his senses too clouded by her to pause and evaluate. One foot dipped into the warm water and then another, this mystery of a woman descending languidly into the baths.

Solas followed her in, the water lapping against their limbs as they went deeper. At the far end there were fewer people, and that was where she turned. Her eyes were focused and her demeanour only slightly different. She pressed his shoulders to make him sit down on the seat molded from the stone that made up the bath. Settling herself on his lap she push her hair back and kissed him slowly, deeply. When she pulled away Solas noticed something different. A shift in her aura was the smallest change: her ears were elongated and pointed beyond what any illusion could produce.

With that parting image he slipped entirely from the fade, waking to the harsh darkness of his quarters. The fire had evidently gone out but in the still of the night his heart beat a little quicker in his chest. She had no idea that he was anything other than a figment of her dream, he at least had that comfort. She would never know unless he told her…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Good morning, Inquisitor.” Solas’ voice wasn’t so much unexpected as it was a trigger, pulling her mind back to the explicit dream she’d had the previous night. With as much restraint as he could muster he challenged her. “I trust you slept well?”

Just the memory of it spurred a heat in her core. She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks and muttered a quick response. The effect that so few words had on her was peripherally satisfying to Solas. He had left that much of an impression and was certain it would last. It would be false to say he didn’t also benefit from the dalliance in the Fade, but it was also a burden. Desire like that could never be fully sated in a place like the Fade, and giving in only heightened the burn he felt for her. The lust. The demand.

It felt almost cruel to know the truth of what happened the previous night while she did not. Just one more thing kept hidden from her, in the long run. Although her eager response left the impression she very much would accept his advances in the waking world, it was simply too complicated to entertain the notion. In dreams, the social rules would forever be suspended. In reality, there were far too many paths they could take that would end badly.

When she headed out of the eastern doorway onto the battlements she cast a small glance over her shoulder at the elf. One that he could only see from the corner of his eye, but one he noticed all the same. He wondered if at night his name would be on her lips as her hands moved beneath the Orlesian sheets that covered her bed. He wanted to know if he would haunt her the way she was haunting him.

Though somehow she had managed to get the higher ground on him. Here he had expected a simple meeting, a means of fulfilling desire, and a way to leave her with an unshakable image of him in her mind. That may have been achieved, but he did not escape without his share of moments to obsess over. The words she’d said, the way the fade obeyed her, and most significantly, the way she appeared right before he awoke.

Somehow, with his many years, the hunter had become the hunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so those two particular lines of Elvish spoken in the fade basically mean this:  
> "I am longing for a thing I can never really know.”  
> “Then you must endure.”
> 
> Also, Dom!Solas is the best Solas.


End file.
